


Tell Me A Tale - Sentence and Pairing Fanfics

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff, Humor, Insecurity, Platonic Hatred, Pregnancy, Romance, Smutty Makeouts, Unplanned Pregnancy, butterfly bog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Strange Magic prompts I received at my Tumblr for the Sentence Plus Pairing meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Butterfly Bog.  _“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”_

* * *

“Do…do I honestly want to know?”

Bog glared at her and wished, not for the first time, that his frame was more suited for subtlety in hiding and tucking one’s self away into dark corners. “If yer only intention is to mock, then ye can leave.”

“Oooh, your accent’s getting thicker, so something’s definitely up. Why are you trying to hide yourself at your own party?”

“I’ve told you, it’s not a  _party_ , it’s a  _gathering_. And it’s Mother’s, not mine.” Bog paused to shrink back when another guest passed by where they were, half hidden in shadow, before he continued in a hiss. “And I’m not  _hiding_ , I’m -”

“Lurking?”

“ _Observing._  Keeping an watchful eye, as it were.” 

“Yeah, whatever you want to call it, it’s letting you avoid the other guests.” Marianne looked around, and then shot him a look torn between amusement and sympathy. “Wish I could join you. I guess it doesn’t matter if they’re Fairy of Goblin, I’m just not good at parties.” 

“ _Gathering._ ” He then smirked at her, gesturing her closer. “There’s room for one more, if you don’t mind close quarters.”

Marianne, happily, did not, and soon Bog had himself an armful of Fairy Princess, her soft skin and long limbs pressed up against his own scaly body, and wasn’t  _this_  just prime? 

She wriggled closer to him before looking up at him inquisitively. “So…who exactly are you hiding from?”

Bog rolled his eyes. “Just…some old suitors are here. I  _had_ had the hope of never seeing them again, but Mother apparently didn’t see the issue with inviting them.” 

Marianne arched a brow. “Are they really all so horrible?”

 _“Yes.”_  Bog paused, reconsidering. “Well, not all of them. I merely had no interest in getting caught up in such ridiculousness. Bloody waste of time.”

 _And you didn’t want to take the chance of getting hurt again._  Marianne knew better than to say that out loud, and besides, she couldn’t blame him, she had been the same way each time Dad had tried to urge her to choose a new suitor. She looked over his shoulder, curious. “Can you see any right now?” 

Bog glanced over to the crowd milling about the dining area, and grimaced. “Three of them. That one  _there_ -” he pointed at one Griselda-esque looking goblin, impassively eating from a heaping platter of food - “was a bloody bore, and that one  _there_  -” he gestured to a tiny little flea-like creature “-was  _far_  too brazen.” 

Marianne squelched a chuckle at the idea of Bog trying to fight off some handsy suitors. “Wait, you said there was three. Who’s the other one?”

Bog scanned the room and then pointed triumphantly. “Ha! Right over there. She’s talking to Mother.”

Marianne let her eyes follow to where his claw was pointing, and felt a jolt as she took in the Goblin maiden who was chatting with Griselda. She was…actually kind of pretty. Maybe that made her not so pretty by Goblin standards, but…Marianne found that that didn’t really matter to her just then. 

Though definitely on the Froggy side, with sharp fangs and slimy cast to her skin, she was only a few inches shorter than Bog, with a lean, strong build and large dark eyes. She had an air of easy confidence, looking very comfortable in the midst of the chattering crowd. She seemed to be older than Marianne, closer to Bog’s age, more worldly than Marianne at any rate. Griselda said something to her, gesturing wildly, and she threw her head back and laughed, and it had a silvery, sophisticated sound to it. 

Bog chuckled, and Marianne was alarmed to feel her gut clench. “So…she wasn’t one of the terrible ones?”

Bog shrugged carelessly. “Eh, as I said, I had no interest in any of them, but…aye, Myrtle was far from awful. She’s got a mind as sharp as a serpents bite - cunning as all get out. She knows how to handle herself, that one.” 

Marianne found herself feeling very small and young as she noted with clarity the admiring tone of Bog’s voice. “She…sounds like she would have made a good Queen.” 

“Aye, maybe, but as I said, I wasn’t -” Bog paused, looking down at her. “What’s the matter?”

Marianne looked away from him, feigning a blasé attitude and praying that the shadows of their corner masked the horrible burning flush on her cheeks. “Nothing.”

“Oh no, don’t you start trying to play coy from me, Tough Girl, now what -” a light seemed to dawn on him, and Marianne nearly groaned when she saw his eyes widen in sudden realization. “Wait a minute…are…are you  _jealous_?” 

Marianne shot him an annoyed look, but couldn’t stop the unhappy grimace that twisted at her lips. “Bog, just drop it -” 

“Marianne…” Bog, to his credit, didn’t seem gleeful or gloating. He simply looked shocked. “Marianne, love, why would you  _ever_  be jealous?” 

She wanted to protest that she  _wasn’t_ , she really really wasn’t, but Bog knew how to read her better than anyone - there was no point in denying it. Her shoulders slumped. “She’s older, seems more mature, and…I don’t know, sometimes I just get reminded that by Goblin standards I’m not really all that attractive -”

“To hell with Goblin standards,” Bog said bluntly, winding one set of claws into her hair while the other traveled down her spine, pressing her closer to him, comforting and protective. “To hell with any standards. You’re beautiful, that’s a simple fact.” 

Marianne felt a far different flush on her cheeks at his comments - his tone not flattering or placating, but one of genuine frankness  - and felt a pleasurable little squirm in her gut. “A biased but incredibly sweet opinion.” 

“Incontestable truth,” he retorted, and brushed a soft kiss on the crown of her head. “Myrtle’s smart, but she’s nothing compared to you. And as for maturity…” Bog gave a thoughtful hum, and she could hear the gentle teasing to his voice as he continued, “…well, one day you’ll get there.”

She swatted at him, but couldn’t stop her grin. “Someone’s got to keep you young. Which is a nearly impossible task -”

“Fighting words, Tough Girl,” he growled, but his eyes were tender as he took in her smile, happy to see her bout of envy and insecurity over. 

“So fight me,” she murmured, tugging him down to her. 

He happily accepted her challenge, and they soon lost themselves in each other as the party continued on without them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know so many people expect Bog to be the jealous one, but I think Marianne would get it from time to time too =)


	2. Chapter 2

Sunny and Lizzie. _“I think we need to talk.”_

* * *

“Look, Lizzie, I…” Sunny sighed, not sure how to continue. “I think we need to talk.”

She looked at him adoringly, batting her eyes, and wagged her tail. She looked so  _happy_ , just so pleased to be near him, and oh man, he didn’t care if it was just the Love Potion, Sunny didn’t like the idea of hurting anyone. He sighed once more.  _This is what you get for messing around with that Potion in the first place._

“Look, baby girl…you know I like ya.” Lizzie nodded her head and stamped her feet excitedly. “But…I also like Dawn.”

Lizzie cocked her head.

“Like… _really_  like her.  _Like_  like her. I’m…I’m in love with her.”

Lizzie blinked. 

“And…I just think we need to talk about what that’s gonna mean for you and me, honey.”

Lizzie snuggled up to him, giving a little rough purr. 

_Whoo Boy._  “Lizzie, honey…you’re not gonna get jealous and try to eat Dawn, are ya? Because that…that really really  _really_  wouldn’t be good.” 

Lizzie gave a little snort and batted at his head. 

“Wait, what does that mean, you’re not the jealous type?”

She gave a trill. 

“You can  _share?!”_

She nodded and purred once more, rubbing against him. 

“Ah…well, okay, I guess as long as we can agree about…that…”

She gave a playful growl and licked him. 

“Aw, baby girl, you’re so sweet, I’m glad -  _wait, what do you mean Pare’s cuter anyway!?”_


	3. Chapter 3

Stuff and Thang.  _“I wish I could hate you.”_

* * *

 

Stuff looked over at him, and rolled her eyes. He looked so… _weedy_  and  _nervous_  but so stupidly  _happy_ , delighted just to be cleaning up around the new Throne Room. The words were off her tongue before she even finished thinking them. “I wish I could hate you.” 

Thang blinked at her, his eyes wide. “…Er, what?”

Stuff scowled at him. “I said I wish I could hate you.”

Thang openend and closed his mouth, clearly lost. “Um…don’t you?”

“That’s just it!” Stuff threw up her arms, annoyed. “I thought I did! I was totally certain I did, and it was all good! It was a nice hobby, you know?”

“Uh…yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t really like the parts when you get the King to hit me -”

“-But now…” Stuff sighed and shook her head, dejected. “I don’t know anymore. Maybe I  _still_ hate you, and it’s just getting…I don’t know, more platonic? I have platonic hate for you? Is that a thing?”

Thang shrugged cheerfully.“It might be!” He wasn’t sure if he was being all that helpful, but in any case, he didn’t like to see Stuff like this. He didn’t like to see  _anyone_  sad, but Stuff especially. Stuff was stoic and professional and snarky, but never  _sad._ Thang was creature of habit, someone who got extremely nervous when his day-to-day routine was thrown off in a sudden way, and, he was surprised to find, having Stuff be all dejected  _really_  threw him off. “I think platonic hate can totally be a thing!” 

Stuff rolled her eyes at him. “Alright, so…I wish I could  _hate_  hate you, but…” she paused, a little grin tugging at her mouth, “… _platonic_  hating you is good too.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Butterfly Bog. _“I’m pregnant.”_

* * *

“I’m pregnant…?”

The first is a whisper, full of quiet shock and disbelief, almost a question. But she hadn’t needed anyone to tell her, had felt the truth as soon as her monthly blood hadn’t come…

She touches her belly, still flat and hard with muscle, skin soft and pliant and warm, and thinks for a dazed moment what is beneath it, what is happening inside of her. Fear and wonder and  _how could this be_ , they hadn’t even thought it was possible, two species, too different for them to –

But that’s what they did, wasn’t it? Revel in difference, prove everyone wrong…

Well, they had certainly done that now. Even themselves.

Oh  _god_ , what would happen?

* * *

“I’m pregnant!”

Fear in this one, borderline panic. How could they – they hadn’t even  _talked_  about it! 

Maybe they  _might_  have flushed when Griselda went on and on about grandkids and baby names and transforming one of the spare rooms into a nursery, but that was Griselda. 

Maybe she  _had_  seen a certain look come into his eyes when she had found herself cradling a tiny little goblin babe, something that she had been quick to call his happiness that his subjects trusted her enough to casually hand off their children to her. Even if she had felt a faint thrill at that undeniably tender glint… 

And yes,  _maybe_  the reason they had each become incandescent with rage over some nasty murmured speculations over  _“imagine what the children will look like”_  hit more to home than either of them had admitted at the time…

All right, so…they hadn’t  _talked_  about it, but…they had certainly  _thought_  about it. Hoped for it? Did they want this?

Were they ready?

* * *

“I’m pregnant.”

Steel in this one, warmth and conviction. She wanted this. She might not be ready, doubted that she ever would be, but…

Her hand dropped to her stomach once more, and she stroked it, soothing and comforting. One day she would be cradling him, her, whatever it will be –

_I want you. I love you, I haven’t even met you and I love you, I love you so much –_

She imagines telling her father, Dawn – Dawn would be rapturous, Dad…Dad would be a grandfather, and she knows he’s always wanted that. Grandchildren who will be both Dark and Light, Goblin and Fairy…

But before she tells either Dawn or Dad…

Bog.

_Oh god, how is she going to tell Bog?_

* * *

“I’m pregnant.”

She tries it so many different ways, tones and inflections tried and discarded. Nothing fits. Blasé, frank, excited, challenging – none of them work.

She stands in front of the looking glass, green tinted and spotty with age but still serviceable – even if Bog still avoids it like the plague, he only allowed it for her sake – and her reflection frowns at her. She hasn’t begun to show, but her eyes are tired, her wings twitchy, and there’s a clenched quality to her mouth. She’s been moody too, restless and irritable. She knows she shouldn’t be sparring anymore, but that doesn’t assuage the guilt she feels at the perplexed, wounded look in Bog’s eyes when she turns down his offer for a quick bout. He made it knowing she wasn’t feeling well, and a good fight always lifted her spirits, he had wanted to help –

Oh  _god,_  she has to tell him.

She suspects that Griselda may already know, or at least has suspicions. She’s caught the little brash King’s Mother eyeing her, a pondering quality to her gaze…

She has to tell him.

She sighs and tries again.

* * *

“I’m…”

He looks at her expectantly, and she can tell he’s nervous too, though probably not as much as her. His claws scratch at the moss of the bed –  _their_ bed, no longer just his – and he cracks his neck, clearly uneasy. “You’re…?”

She grasps her arms, feeling twisted and small and it’s eating away at her like a swarm of locusts, she has to tell him, she needs to, it’s just two little words,  _why is it so hard_ –

He reaches for her, now truly concerned. “Marianne, what -?”

“I’m pregnant.” A whisper. Not a challenge, not scared, just a whisper. As fragile and easy to brush away as spider silk and as immovable as gnarled roots in the earth. The truth, out in the open.

He stares at her, and if it weren’t for how wide his eyes suddenly are, she would wonder if he had heard her. “ _You’re…?”_

“Yeah,” she nods, sitting down next to him, crossing her legs and hunching her shoulders, drawing herself in as tight as a bud. She darts a glance at him and her heart thrums…

He looks down, his eyes not taking in anything, and his voice sounds faintly frantic when he manages to speak.  _“How -?”_

“The usual way,” Marianne says somewhat dryly, and it’s a mark of Bog’s great shock that he doesn’t rise to that. Marianne feels her heart begin to twist anew, and damn it all, she needs to ask, needs to know. “Are…are we –“

A set of claws gently touches at her middle, felt even through her clothes, and she sucks in a quiet inhale -

She had known he wouldn’t be angry, had worried if he might fly into a panic, but now, as his hand slowly presses against her, so rough and sharp, so gentle…

His gaze fixes on his hand as it rests on her, splayed fingers covering her belly completely, and Marianne realizes at the same time he does that  _this is real_ , this isn’t a lie, life is growing inside of her at this very moment, life that they’ve created, Light and Dark, Goblin and Fairy, Him and Her –

She’s going to be a mother.

He’s going to be a father.

“We’re…?” He rasps out, and in that single word Marianne hears the undeniable joy beneath the shock in his voice, and a shock of relief and euphoria hits her so hard she’s almost dizzy.

“Yes,” she murmurs, and she curls her hand around his, still resting against her, their fingers linking. And she realizes how protected this little bud of blooming life will be, him and her together, fighting for it with every inch of them…

He looks at her, and Marianne can’t help but smile at his damp eyes, her joy is so great, and her own voice is slightly teary when she continues. “We are.”

He closes his eyes at that and gives a shaky exhale, but his fangs are bared in incredulous happiness, and his grip on her tightens.

_I’m pregnant._  No longer just her, no longer alone, she’s going to be a mother, he’s going to be a father, they’re going to be parents, they’re together no matter what –

“We’re going to have a baby.”


	5. Chapter 5

Butterfly Bog. " _You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”_

* * *

“Marianne? Marianne, are ye awake?”

Marianne bundled down further into the moss, murmuring sleepily. She wasn’t awake, not at all. She wasn’t awake and certainly wasn’t ready to surrender the warm little cocoon of moss and heat, her eyes blissfully closed.  

She had arrived at the Dark Forest late, too late to see Bog. She had only meant to rest her eyes for a bit while waiting for him, but had apparently been far more tired than she had thought…

Claws prodded at her gently. “Marianne, I – please, I need ye –“

Mmm, Bog…Bog saying he needed her…Oh, she  _liked_  that, she liked that a  _lot._  Hearing that accent of his tracing round those words, consonants and syllables making her tingle with sleepy heat…She wondered if she could him to plead some more, he sounded so _good_ when he did it…

“Marianne!” The claws felt more urgent this time. “Please, ye need to wake up –“

“Be…” Marianne yawned “…Because?”

“Because - ” - there was a sudden crackling sound, like brittle autumn leaves crunching, and a muted snarl of a curse - “- Because Ah cannae dae this without ye.”

She drowsily noted his accent was thicker – definitely out of sorts. “Mmmph…can y’beg some more?” She murmured, snuggling even deeper. What could he need help with? What was so terribly important that she had to wake up, why –

She heard him give a snort, a mix of ill temperedness and amusement. “Ah swear Ah will sing yer praises ta th’ skies an’ back if  _ye get up_ , ye lazy thing.”

She aimed a sleepy swat. “Name calling. Rude. Now I’ll never get up.”

“ _Marianne.”_  Ohhhh, definitely a pleading tone to that one. “C’mon, Tough Girl, this is…this is  _terribly_  uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? Marianne was intrigued. Bog was usually too bullheaded to say something was paining him.  _So like her._  She cracked open one heavy eyelid the merest sliver and peered at him, before her eyes shot open.  _“Oh!”_

Bog glared at her, impatience and almost-misery making his scowl even fiercer. “ _Now_ will ye get up?” 

“Oh god, Bog…” She sat up and scooted to him, her hands skating over his now severely peeling, rough scales. “I thought you weren’t due for another molting for a while –“

“It snuck up on me,” he gritted out, wincing as she began to work at a loose piece at his collar. “And I can’t sleep like this –“

“So you needed me to help.” Marianne couldn’t stop the smile that quirked at her lips. “More like you  _wanted_  me to help.” She knew he had been dealing with moltings long before he had met her, knew he could bear them with some modicum of grace if he had to…

Bog let out a groan of relief as she pried the flaky old exoskeleton away, rolling his shoulder and moving his neck in newfound relief. “I didn’t think you’d begrudge it –“

“And I don’t,” Marianne returned, letting her fingers really work under the crackly segments of his back. This was a tough one. “But I also think” -  _tug_ – “that someone remembers” -  _tug_  – “how touch sensitive he gets” –  ** _tug_**  – “and how I helped him discover that particular fact.”  _Tug, WRENCH._    

Bog’s groan at that was almost indecent, and Marianne certainly didn’t help by brushing her fingers over the new skin, shiny and dark and tender, and he shivered hard under her touch. All traces of sleep gone, Marianne’s grin was absolutely wicked as she bent her face to nuzzle at the fresh, slick scales, shiny and smooth. Four days without him had left her a bit…anxious…

Bog writhed under her touch, all ill temper forgotten. “There’s – _mph_ – more to –  _ahh_  – get to –“

“We will,” Marianne murmured, “but first…” She gave a little lick at the new exoskeleton, tongue dragging over the ridges and bumps of his scales.

Bog went very still before grabbing at her, and the noise he made was caught between a snarl and a moan.

Marianne smothered her laugh by enthusiastically returning his kiss, and felt a sweet and hungry appreciation over just how it would take for them to peel off every single bit of molting exoskeleton, all the new skin for her to lavish her attention on…

Bog moaned into her mouth as her fingers chased down his chest, and Marianne impishly reflected, through a haze of thickening desire, over how there was only a mere little letter of a difference between  _molting_  and  _melting_ …


	6. Chapter 6

Butterfly Bog. _"Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”_

* * *

As the ruler of the Dark Forest and its wild, frightening, and often times frankly imbecilic populace, Bog had seen some strange sights. But this…

“Marianne?”

“Mph?”

There was multiple ways to phrase what he was wondering –  _what the bloody hells are you doing_ was one of them – but he felt the most straight forward manner was the best. “Is… there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Marianne gave a little grumble, her mouth already having a faint scowl to it, and she burrowed determinedly even further down into the mossy pile of blankets she had heaped over herself. From what Bog could see, there was indeed nary a stitch of clothing on her. He had only recently begun to truly understand the concept of clothing and nakedness, and how they applied to Fairies – particularly a certain fiery Princess, but he understood the basics. Such as the removal of garments could signify a number of things – it could be a matter of sheer practicality or even a means of seduction.

With Marianne…he could never be certain.  _Though the fact she was in his bed…_

“I got wet,” Marianne’s voice, groggy and grumpy, cut through his pondering. Bog’s brow knit with concern as he noted that she did indeed look a little damp, pale and shivery. The thunder outside  _boomed_  as if to verify her statement, and Marianne huddled beneath the bedding. “In the storm. Obviously. Just like last time. Only now…cold. Really,  _really_  cold. Wings soaked, clothes soaked. If I had kept them on, I’d have gotten sick. And you don’t wanna see me sick, Bog. I’m the worst invalid ever. Super cranky.”

Bog had to grin at that – his mother often said the same thing about him whenever he fell ill. “So, now you are…”

“Getting warm. Slowly but surely. Have I ever mentioned how much I freaking love moss?” She opened one eye in a squint, the warm golden brown regarding him with sleepy affection, and she shrugged a bare shoulder at him. “There’s no need to stand there, your highness, you and I both know that there’s plenty of room…”

“Indeed,” Bog murmured dryly, but he made his way to the bed, carelessly leaning his scepter against the wall. Gods, but he was as tired as she sounded, and the thrum of rain against the walls of his castle was not helping either. Having a bedmate had been something to get used to – and Marianne could kick something  _fierce_  for such a wee thing. But on nights like this, rain and thunder chilling the air and a certain lovely Fairy Princess needing to be warmed…

Besides, for as much as Marianne could kick, Bog was more often awoken by gentle fingers stroking his brow or little kisses peppering the line of his jaw…

Marianne made a little sound as he slid between the blankets to join her, a cross between a purr and a croak. “You know, body heat usually helps. Maybe some skin to skin…?”

He chuckled but left a respectable distance between them. “Seduction in spite of nearly being frozen. I admire your determination, Tough Girl.” He wrapped another blanket around her, noting with some alarm that her flesh was truly chilled.

Marianne snuggled closer. “Just hold me then.” Her voice was faint and – though he would never dare to tell her – very cute. “I promise I’m too tired to try anything else.”

She did sound utterly exhausted, and Bog found it was all too easy to curl his arms around her blanket covered form. He gently began to comb his claws through her damp hair, making Marianne sigh happily. He felt his heart ache from sheer contentment. Who would have thought the scarred old thing could have ever welcomed such sweet pain after spending all those years shattered…?

Rain and thunder and Marianne’s soft little sighs began to lull him, make his eyes sink closed, and Bog drowsily wondered over it all, how he had found her,  _this_ , he’d never thought he would ever be so lucky, so happy…

Then Marianne began to snore.

Bog’s eyes snapped open, and he sighed.  _There it is…_


End file.
